


Chanson Triste, Op.40, No. 2 - Tchaikovsky

by buritinha



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Choi Jongho-centric, Colors, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, It Gets Better Project, Jongho Is Babie, Kissing It Better, M/M, Metaphors, Park Seonghwa is Whipped, Soft Park Seonghwa, Strangers to Lovers, Synesthesia, What Have I Done, actually cute af
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:27:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25265350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buritinha/pseuds/buritinha
Summary: - synesthesia is a word that comes from the Greek synaísthesis, where syn means "union" and esthesia means "sensation", so a possible literal translation would be "simultaneous sensation" -Sensations of calm did not exist in Jongho's color spectrum, not in the past few years. It was interesting and tragic, the oppressive duality, the metals and the classics, its white hell. Cacophonic symphony of sensations, the result of his neurological disorder that he once thought was beautiful. But, in fact, he now found himself trapped by the shades, and no overpowering red or black was successful in getting him out of the feeling of white.- one, two, three -The orchestra gave no truce to the boy, ringing loudly in his ears. Chanson Triste, Op.40, No. 2 - Tchaikovsky. The aggressive softness. It was a hilarious, tragic, and dualist discourse, which never broke the paradigm of cohesion. It was impossible to drown out, and the boy just didn't understand why the incessant melody was there.
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Park Seonghwa, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Jeong Yunho/Kim Hongjoong, Kang Yeosang/Song Mingi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Chanson Triste, Op.40, No. 2 - Tchaikovsky

**Author's Note:**

> so, English is definitely not my first language, but I try my best! love constructive criticism, so please feel free to leave a comment. this is just a self-indulgent story that I've thought about a lot and finally decided to bring it to life

He pulled some air through his mouth. The lips are parted, the molars are scratching each other, the jaw is locked. He knew the floor was cold because the thin fabric of the pants he wore couldn't keep the wood cold away from his skin, but he couldn't care less. The figure huddled in the corner of the room barely drew attention, wearing white clothes in a white room. A void full of torment, of agony, which only had slightly tanned skin and black hair to contrast. The distress that broke and brought black tones to white was expressed through tears. Discreet tears, which came silently and constantly, reflecting the sensations that white alone wasn’t enough to express.

Synesthesia is a word that comes from the Greek synaísthesis, where syn means "union" and esthesia means "sensation", so a possible literal translation would be "simultaneous sensation".

Sensations of calm did not exist in Jongho's color spectrum, not in the past few years. It was interesting and tragic, the oppressive duality, the metals and the classics, its white hell. A cacophonic symphony of sensations, the result of his neurological disorder that he once thought was beautiful. But, in fact, he now found himself trapped by the shade, and no overpowering red or black was successful in getting him out of the sensation of white.

one, two, three

The orchestra gave no truce to the little boy, ringing loudly in his ears. Chanson Triste, Op.40, No. 2 - Tchaikovsky. The aggressive softness. It was a hilarious, tragic, and dualist discourse, which never broke the paradigm of cohesion. It was impossible to drown out, and the boy just didn't understand why the incessant melody was there.

The classics reminded him of his family, in fact. Especially those of anguish, frenzy, dark blue, and gray. They reminded him of incomprehension, of distrust.  
“-Omma, the puppy is yellow. Is not it beautiful? - The boy was staring at her with bright eyes, an innocent, gummy smile on his cheeky face. The small, energetic puppy jumped for joy and started running down the sidewalk. He jumped and ran in yellow.  
-Quiet, Jongho. No one needs to hear about your defect.”  
His defect. Constant reminders were needed, which his family seemed to insist on reinforcing so that Choi would remain silent. Keep yourself and your feelings silent, at least in the outside world.

He was moving restlessly in the room, swallowed by the white of the walls, the bed, the bookcase... His parents made sure to drown him in white, as if they knew and wanted Jongho to feel permanently suffocated. His anxiety was seeping through every single one of his pores and he was fighting off the memories of childhood to the best of his abilities. 

Today was a good day. He finally had been allowed to change schools, going to attend his junior year almost across town, to shake the classmates that bullied him off. However, it didn't felt real. He measured the possibilities, but talking from experience, the result was always disastrous.   
This would be his last chance since his parents miraculously agreed to move him again; so, yeah, he really needed it to work.


End file.
